


Waterworld

by orphan_account, Winchesterek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Boats and Ships, Dystopia, Evolution, First Kiss, Flooded Earth, Intimacy, Kidnapping, Kissing, Lust, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Making Out, Mariners, Ocean, Omega Stiles Stilinski, POV Alternating, Past Character Death, Past Slavery, Sea Monsters, Self-Lubrication, Sharing, Stripping, Trading, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, keeping secrets, merchants, mutations, offering sex as payment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8579332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchesterek/pseuds/Winchesterek
Summary: In the future, the polar ice caps have melted and covered the earth with water. Dry land is a myth that people tell their children about when they put them to sleep. People live on floating communities called atolls and merchant ships.Over centuries, mutations have evolved from the human race to allow for their survival in this post-apocalyptic world. Stiles is a mutation, an omega, living in this world. But Stiles has a secret. He knows where dry land is. Or, at least, he might know where dry land is. He's not sure if it's real, but he knows that's where he comes from and that his father is supposed to be there waiting for him. And he has a map that's supposed to tell him exactly where it is.Enter Derek Hale, an Alpha mutation that has adapted to life fully on the water.Stiles and Derek set out on a lifetime journey to find mythical dry land and dammit, Stiles can't help but be attracted to Derek and his intoxicating scent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Note from the Author** : Hey everyone! So, this is a WIP fic. I've got about 30k written right now that I'm editing and I need to finish up the fic, which might be another 10k or so. I wanted to go ahead and start posting it, though, to give myself motivation to edit and finish it during the little free time I have these days. I cant promise that I'll post a chapter every week like I have in the past, but I hope you read and enjoy it anyway! - Liam
> 
>  **Tags** : I'll be adding tags as I go along and update the fic.
> 
>  **Rating** : We don't earn our Explicit rating in the first chapter, but I promise you it's coming (along with Stiles and Derek)!
> 
>  **Inspiration** : This fic is inspired by a movie I watched when I was a kid and I'm still in love with it today. It came out in 1995 (haha omg I'm so old) and the title is Waterworld. At one point I was watching this movie multiple times a day (because I like post-apocalyptic and dystopian verses if you couldn't tell already) and decided I NEEDED to write a fic about this world. So, here is my Sterek adaptation of it! I hope you guys enjoy it! Of course there's a werewolf and ABO spin on it!
> 
>  **Tumblr** : If you'd like to reblog the art, [go here.](http://sterekbros.tumblr.com/post/154027780426)
> 
>  **Translating** : I do not want this translated and reposted anywhere else, where others will take credit. Thanks.

_The future – the polar ice caps have melted, covering the earth with water. Those who survived have adapted to a new world._

 

*

The woman’s face was lined with pain, the sweat on her brow glistening in the low light of the oil lamp. Her tongue darted out to lick at her dry lips, hand reaching out blindly as her chest heaved with every breath. “Stiles,” she whispered.

“Drink some water. It will make you feel better,” Stiles said, trying to help her up to take a sip.

She struggled upwards and opened her mouth for the proffered water skin. Taking the smallest of sips, it seemed like she was just trying to appease her son. “My baby,” she murmured, reaching up and brushing the lank and dirty hair back from his forehead, immeasurable sorrow showing in her eyes. “It’s not going to be long now.”

“You're going to be fine mama. You just need some rest.” Stiles helped her lay back down and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand holding hers. “Tell me the story again.”

“Come here,” she gestured, and Stiles crawled to lay next to her. She folded him in her arms, tucked against her side. “A long time ago,” she began, “you and I didn’t live here on this ship. We lived on land, that was full of green trees and fresh water and animals that you can’t even imagine.” She let her face drop into Stiles’ hair, breathing in his scent with her grating, gasping breaths. “And your father was there with us,” she whispered, tracing her fingers down the ragged back of Stiles’ shirt.

“Tell me about him,” Stiles said softly as he hugged his mom tight. “What was he like?”

“He was kind,” she said, kissing his hair. “And he loved you more than anything in the world. And I know that someday, you’ll be able to find your way back to him.”

“I will. I promise.” Stiles snuggled into his mother's side and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the steady beat of her heart for the last time.

***

Stiles blinked at the sunlight stinging his eyes. He reached up to rub them and felt tears that he’d no doubt cried in his sleep. It wasn't the first time he’d woken up after dreaming about his last few moments with his mom. He sighed and wiped them away, thinking about the promise that he’d made her. He promised that he’d find dry land and his father again. That was eight years ago. Stiles’ gaze shifted up to look at the zeppelin above him, thinking about how much his life had changed since his mother died. He’d spent a good five years after her death trying to escape slavery, being sold from master to master until he’d ended up here.

The last two years he’d spent with Lydia. She’d purchased him from his last master and then set him free. Stiles thought about running, but he didn't have anywhere else to go and Lydia was decent. She didn't abuse him and she genuinely cared. She was the best person that he’d known all his life, other than his mother. Stiles thought about how different things were when he decided to stay. He worked for Lydia in her store, selling random items and trading goods when the mariners came in from sea.

Stiles sighed and stretched his neck and back before getting up and climbing off of the zeppelin. One day. Maybe him and Lydia would take it and fly off to find dry land if he could figure out how to read the map on his back. As it was, he could barely see it. He shook his head and hopped off onto the platform below him and headed off to find Lydia.

“Hey,” he said, coming up to her behind the counter of the shop. “Sorry… I didn't think I’d sleep so long. How has everything been?”

“Busy,” Lydia replied, handing a few dirty coins to a customer. They tapped their forehead in a salute and walked out. Lydia wiped her hands off on her pants, then turned to Stiles and frowned. “Were you crying?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I, um… had that dream about my mom again.” Stiles tried to shrug it off, the look of concern on Lydia’s face familiar to him. “But I’m okay.”

“Well you look like shit,” she said, not unkindly though. “Do you want to go rest again?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I’ll just end up thinking about it again. I think I should work to take my mind off of it.” Stiles glanced around and noticed a man with light eyes and dark hair staring at him. Stiles glanced back at Lydia. “Anything specific you need me to do?”

“You could start by reorganizing those shelves,” she said, jerking her head in their direction. Some of the various items had been rummaged through haphazardly, a few fallen to the floor. She looked over Stiles’ shoulder, the same man still staring at them. “Can I help you with something sir?”

“Just looking,” the man grunted, dropping what he was holding and turning around to stalk out.

“I guess he didn't want to buy anything…” Stiles moved to pick up what the man had dropped and went to place it back on the shelf. He started reorganizing the shelves and picking up things from the floor. Stiles did his best to try and ignore the sting in his chest as he worked.

***

Derek hurried down the crowded walkway between shops, not really paying attention to where he was going. He was still thinking about the strange scent that boy in Lydia Martin’s shop had given off. He’d gone there based on her reputation, but he’d immediately given up on being able to concentrate with that smell filling his senses. He didn’t know what to make of it. It was unlike anything he’d ever scented before… an almost _green_ smell, but that made no sense at all.

Still distracted, Derek slammed his shoulder into another person passing him, knocking him to the ground.

“Hey, asshole! Watch where you’re going!” The man growled.

“Sorry,” Derek said distractedly, offering his hand to the man as an afterthought.

The man grunted in disgust and slapped his hand away, eyes falling to Derek’s feet. He looked back up at Derek, eyes wide. “Mutation!”

Derek recoiled, before anger overwhelmed his shock. He felt his vision bleed red and he snarled, flashing fangs. “You watch your mouth,” he growled, hands clenched into fists.

The man backed up and got to his feet, stumbling away as fast as possible from Derek.

A small crowd of onlookers had gather, with expressions ranged from interest to outright loathing. Taking a deep breath, Derek let his fangs retract and turned away, pushing his way through the crowd and hurrying to his ship.

He climbed on board and dropped his knapsack of supplies before hurriedly untying the rope from the dock and drifting back out to sea, the sun beating down on his shoulders. The further he got from the massive conglomeration of structures that formed the merchant ship, the more he relaxed.

This was where he belonged, Derek thought, staring out at the endless blue around him.

***

“Stiles!”

Stiles jerked awake at the hands shaking him and Lydia’s voice pulling him to consciousness. “Lydia?”

“Stiles,” she said again, urgently. “Danny brought word that there are men here looking for you.”

“What? Why?” Stiles asked, bolting upright. “I didn't do anything. I didn't offend anyone at the shop. I swear!”

“No, Stiles, it’s not that,” Lydia said, laughing semi-hysterically from what sounded like nerves. “They’re saying… it’s about your back.”

Stiles froze, trying to remember if he’d said anything about his back to anyone but Lydia. There was no one else he’d trusted and he didn't think she’d mention it to anyone else. His breath started coming quickly and he looked back up to her. “I have to go. They’re going to come here and take me away.”

“The zeppelin is loaded up with supplies, we can be in the air in fifteen minutes or less,” Lydia said, tugging Stiles to his feet.

“But you’ll lose everything if you come with me,” Stiles said quietly, holding Lydia’s hand.

“I don’t care,” Lydia said instantly. “I didn’t set you free just to watch you go back in chains for someone else.”

Stiles hugged Lydia tight to his chest. “I’ll meet you there. I need to grab a few things. Okay?”

“You move it fast, then, mister,” Lydia said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Danny’s started the launch prep, we need to get going fast.” With a final hug, she darted out the doorway, leaving Stiles alone.

Stiles stood in the quiet of the room, taking deep breaths. He couldn't ask Lydia and Danny to sacrifice the lives they’ve built on the ship for him. He couldn't ask them to die with him out on the sea. Stiles hurried and grabbed his bag and the only picture of his mother that he had and hurried for the docks. It didn't take him long to find a medium sized raft to commandeer, tossing his things onto it and cutting the rope. Stiles grabbed the oar and pushed away from the dock, paddling away from the ship.

***

Derek dove smoothly off the side of his ship, letting the sting of the water envelop him. He embraced the stillness, being underwater one of the only times he was truly at peace. Slicing smoothly back and forth under the water, Derek relished the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself. There weren’t many options for staying fit when you spent your days on a ship his size, but he was thankful he could swim at least.  
  
Surfacing, he blew water in a spray out of his mouth and pushed the sodden strands of his hair off his face, feeling them sticking to the back of his neck and shoulders. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, feeling the warmth of the sun. As he was basking, his nostrils flared. It was the scent that had thrown him aboard the merchant ship. Unless he was going crazy… he was smelling it again.

He quickly cut through the water and climbed aboard the side of his ship, making for the mast and scaling it efficiently. Derek turned his gaze in a circle, shading his eyes with one hand until he saw a faint dark blob on the horizon to the west.

Despite his misgivings, he dropped his sails, before leaping down to the deck.

He stood at the bow of the ship and watched the dark shape get larger and more distinct, along with the smell of its passenger. Before too long, he could tell it was a small, simple raft, with one person aboard. The same young man from the store, now lying unconscious.

Once he was in grabbing distance, Derek hooked the edge of the raft and reeled it in. At this close range, he could see the young man was in trouble. His lashes lay against his cheeks and his breathing was labored. Even from several feet away, Derek could see how his eyes were sunken and when he moved closer and gently pinched the boy’s skin, it didn’t immediately bounce back. Severe dehydration.

Feeling something twinge in his chest, Derek gathered the young man in his arms, carrying his weight easily and brought him on board his own ship. He was dressed in only a threadbare tunic and simple breeches, his hair roughly cut to a much shorter length than Derek’s own. He could see a hint of tattoos on the boy's shoulders, but no other ornamentation.

Marveling a bit at himself, he carried the boy down under the deck, laying him on the small cot Derek used for sleeping. Fetching a waterskin, he soaked a clean rag with water and squeezed out a few drops onto the boys cracked and parched lips, before stroking his throat and encouraging him to swallow.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Derek frowned to himself, foreseeing a long night ahead. But for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he didn’t want to leave this boy, who smelled so much of life, alone to die.

***

There was a faint light when Stiles opened his eyes. His lips and throat were sore and dry and he felt weak as he moved to try and sit up. He looked around and didn't recognize where he was. The last thing he remembered was being on the raft and running out his water ration. Stiles managed to sit upright on the cot and saw his pack next to it. He reached for it and opened it up. All of his things were inside and he sighed in relief as he saw the photograph of his mother.

A rich scent clung to the air and Stiles couldn't place it. There were things around him that he’d never seen before and some of them seemed to tug at his memory.

“Hello?” He called out quietly, voice hoarse as he stood up.

After a moment, legs appeared, descending down a rope ladder into the under section. They were clad in a slick looking material, laced up the sides, and tight, showing off muscular calves and thighs. The rest of his rescuer appeared slowly, a bare tanned chest, followed by a familiar face, surrounded by dark hair that brushed his shoulders. “You’re awake,” the man said, sounding a bit surprised.

Stiles stared at the man, eyes trailing over him and back up to his face. “You’re the guy from the shop that dropped our tomato plant.” Stiles never thought he’d run into him again, even though their previous encounter was brief. And they hadn't even talked then. “Wow the world is small.”

“I suppose so,” the man remarked, coming a step closer, but slowly, like he was gauging Stiles’ reaction. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive…” Stiles watched the man carefully, not sure what to make of him. “Why did you pick me up?”

The man stopped and raised his formidable eyebrows. “Are you sorry I did?”

“No. It's just… People don't usually do things for free. They usually want something. So… what do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” The man crossed his arms and kept his distance. “I didn’t think it was right to just leave you floating out there to die. No matter what most people think of me, I’m not a monster.”

“I didn't call you a monster.” Stiles said carefully. After a few moments he said, “My name is Stiles. What's yours?”

There was a bit of a pause, before the man relaxed minutely. “Derek.”

Stiles shifted there, the sweet rich scent stronger now that Derek was below deck. So the scent was coming from Derek. “Why do you smell different from the others?” He asked quietly, eyes studying Derek.

It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it seemed like Derek twitched a bit at the question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He moved to the opposite corner of the room and crouched down on a bench built into the wall. Despite the constant motion of the ship, Derek moved with an easy grace that was unusual.

“Yeah. You do. Otherwise you wouldn't be all twitchy and avoid-y.” Stiles sat back down on the cot and pulled his legs up under him. He sighed and looked in Derek's direction even if he couldn't see him well now. “It's hard to describe. You smell… I don't know. Sweet? Like a strawberry you pick and leave out to ripen. I guess. My food choices aren't that varied.”

It looked almost like Derek’s eyes briefly turned a reddish color for a moment, but it had to be a trick of the light. “I’m telling the truth. I don’t know why I smell that way to you.” He gnawed at his bottom lip momentarily. “But you smell different to me too. Your scent was how I found you drifting out here.”

“Oh. Well. I guess that's good. Otherwise I probably would have died.” Stiles picked at his threadbare pants and watched Derek. “What now?”

“I’m not planning on kicking you off my ship, if that’s what you’re asking.” Derek leaned back against the wall, arms still crossed. He watched Stiles with an assessing look on his face. “Where were you going on that rickety piece of shit anyway?”

“To find my dad. Just away from that place. I don't know.” Stiles licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “I've been a slave most of my life except for the past two years. I figured it was time to do something with it.”

Derek nodded and looked satisfied with that answer. He bent down and reached into a bag at his feet, tossing Stiles a hard, flat biscuit. “Here. Eat this. And you should drink more water.”

Stiles looked at the biscuit and back at Derek. “Do you have enough?” He broke a small piece off and took a tiny bite. “What about your water supply? I don't want to just take your stuff.”

“I have enough,” Derek said, but didn’t elaborate. “Get some rest… Stiles.” He stood back up and ascended back onto the deck, leaving Stiles alone.

Stiles watched after Derek, wanting to know more, but he knew he couldn't push. Or he’d get thrown off the ship. He ate half the biscuit quietly and tucked the other half into his pack. Only then did Stiles notice a waterskin. He opened it and sniffed it. Satisfied, he took a sip and then groaned. It tasted fresher than anything he'd had on the merchant ship before. He tucked that into his pack too, then laid down on the cot.

He was grateful that Derek had saved him… but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to keep his promise to his mom without revealing his tattoo to Derek. He sighed and buried his face in the sweet scent of the pillow under his head and tried to will himself to sleep.

***

Derek had spent the night above deck, under the stars. Even so, the scent from below was cloying enough to drive him to distraction.

Once morning came, he felt like he should check on his passenger. He picked up a packet of dried and salted meat, along with a fresh waterskin and climbed down the ladder, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

Stiles’ body was curled into a ball on the cot, a threadbare blanket drawn over his sleeping form. Derek crossed to him slowly, his bare feet quiet on the wood. Reaching out a hand, he gently shook Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles shifted at the touch and after a few moments he blinked awake and looked up at Derek. “Hi. Do you want me to move?”

“No, of course not,” Derek said. “I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.” Stiles’ eyes were fuzzy with sleep and Derek felt a lurch in his stomach.

Stiles rolled over onto his back and leaned up on one elbow. “Just tired. It's probably going to take a few days for me to bounce back. But. Um. I can help you do stuff when I am.”

“There isn’t much that I’ll need help with… but what are your plans? You said you were looking for your father. Do you know where he is?”

“I - uh. Maybe. I don't know. It's been… thirteen years since I've seen him. My mom and I were taken when I was about five into slavery.”

Derek blanched. Stiles was still a young man, but he couldn’t imagine being enslaved for over a decade. It was a miracle that Stiles was still alive. “Do you know where you were taken?” He asked, hoping there wasn’t too much horror in his voice.

“I have an idea. I think it's north. But I don't know where north is from here.” Stiles moved to sit up in the cot and looked up at Derek. “When I'm better… if you want, you can dump me off on the next merchant ship you stop at. I'll figure it out.”

“You can stay here if you want,” Derek blurted before he could stop himself. He felt his face heating, but he didn’t retract his statement, letting it hang there.

“...really?” Stiles looked surprised and cautious, watching Derek carefully.

“It’s just… it’s been awhile since I’ve had some company.” Derek cringed a bit internally, realizing he probably sounded like a creep or worse. “I just mean… I wasn’t planning on dumping you somewhere. If you need help, maybe I can provide it.”

Stiles sat there quietly, just staring at Derek. “Okay…” He licked his lips and looked down at his hands. “I don't have anything to give you and I'd be taking your supplies so… Is there something you want or something I can do for you?”

“We can figure that out later,” Derek said. “For now you should just focus on regaining your strength.”

Stiles nodded and looked back up at Derek. “Okay. I think I'll be okay in a day or two. I still have half that biscuit and some of the water you left with me last night.”

“Here,” Derek offered, holding out a strip of meat. “You should get some protein too. I’ll go fishing later for something fresh.”

Stiles hesitantly reached out for the meat and took it. “Thank you. I can clean fish.” Stiles looked down at the meat and lifted it to his mouth, taking a bite and groaning.

Derek’s hands flexed at his sides, feeling unsure of what he should do. “Don’t forget to keep drinking,” he said, pulling the waterskin from over his shoulder and dropping it on the cot next to Stiles. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Thank you,” Stiles called after Derek.

Derek paused on his way up the ladder. “You’re welcome.”

***

The next few days passed much the same, with Derek bringing Stiles food and water and Stiles sleeping the day and night away. When the sunlight woke him, Stiles rolled onto his back and stretched in bed. He wasn't feeling as exhausted or sore as he had the past few days. He was feeling more like himself. He sighed and ran a hand over his face and looked around. Derek wasn't waiting for him to wake, so he must be up on the deck.

Stiles crawled out of bed and took the ladder up, pausing at the top and looking around. He didn't see Derek walking around or doing things, so Stiles crawled out of the top and pulled himself up. He found Derek lying on his stomach, basking in the morning sun, wet from being in the water. Stiles’ eyes roamed over him, taking in how Derek’s pants clung to his body and how warm and tanned his skin looked. He averted his eyes briefly at the unfamiliar tingle at the base of his spine and glanced back. Derek didn't seem to notice he was staring. As Stiles walked forward, he noticed something behind Derek’s ears.

He frowned and squinted his eyes. Were those… gills? Stiles looked at Derek’s feet and noticed the webbing there, as if he should have seen it before. He’d heard of mutations, but he’d never seen one before. He knew that people were generally afraid of them because they didn't know anything about them. But Derek hadn't been anything but nice to him. Things started to click as he remembered Derek commenting about how he wasn't a monster like people thought he was.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing there awkwardly.

Derek cracked open his right eye. “Good morning, Stiles.”

“Good morning.” Stiles smiled and walked closer to Derek, moving to sit down near him. “Take a morning swim?”

“I take a swim most mornings,” Derek said, turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “Not much else to do out here.”

Stiles looked out over the vastness of the ocean so he wouldn't stare at a half-naked Derek soaked in water. “I don't know how to swim,” he confessed. “I never got the chance to learn.”

Derek sat up, his brows furrowed. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not at all. I mean… I was a kid when I became a slave and my mom couldn't exactly teach me. And when she died I… just bounced around and then became free. I didn't really have anyone else to ask. I guess I could have asked Lydia, but we were always so busy at the shop.”

“Well, maybe I could teach you. On our way to… wherever you're going.”

“Really? You want to teach me?” Stiles asked, looking back at Derek.

Derek smiled a bit and it made him look much more approachable. “Well, I can't watch you all the time. What happens if you fall overboard?”

“Well… I guess I’d drown,” Stiles said and chuckled. “Which I’ve been lucky this far in my life to not have fallen in the water since I can't swim.”

“We'll just have to remedy that,” Derek said. He stood up and quickly pulled his hair into a loose braid before smoothly diving into the water. Moving much faster than a normal man, he sliced powerfully through the water, almost like he was showing off.

Stiles rolled his eyes and scooted up to the edge, shifting until his legs were dangling over the side. When Derek popped up again, he shouted, “Show off!” He looked down in the water and tried not to let the thought of drowning cripple him. “What if I can't learn?”

“Everyone can learn,” Derek insisted. “Even infants will instinctively hold their breath and try to swim, often with success.” He splashed water at Stiles’ legs.

“It’s instinct to hold your breath so you won’t drown, until you black out and die,” Stiles replied and frowned down at the water. “Are you going to catch me or let me sink?”

“I won't let you sink.” Derek sounded appalled at the very idea. “You don't have to do this if you don't want to.”

Stiles was uncomfortable. “I’m just afraid to drown.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “But you’re right. I need to learn… I’m trusting you.” Stiles swallowed down his nerves and stood up. He took a nervous breath and then jumped into the water close to Derek.

As soon as Stiles was in the water, Derek was there, arms supporting him. “Don't flail,” he said, “let the water carry your weight.”

“Yeah, straight to the bottom.” Stiles clutched at Derek, hands gripping his shoulders tightly. He took several breaths with his eyes closed before opening them and looking at Derek. “Please don't let me go.”

“I won't.” One of Derek's hands was steady on Stiles’ waist, the other gripping one of Stiles’ hands. “Kick your legs slowly, back and forth, just to help you tread water.”

“Okay.” Stiles started kicking his feet like Derek instructed, his hand holding Derek’s with a death grip. He was afraid. Stiles didn't want to drown and the abyss below them frightened him. He didn't know how he’d survived so long on the water without learning how to swim. “Is it easier for you?” He asked Derek carefully, still kicking his feet. “Because of your feet?”

Derek tensed minutely, but it was noticeable nonetheless. “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate, but he started propelling himself backwards, pulling Stiles through the water.

Stiles gasped and held onto Derek tighter, afraid that he was going to be released as he continued to kick. “Can you breathe underwater?” He sputtered as water splashed him in the face. “Your ears…”

“Yeah, actually,” Derek said, looking self-conscious and still tense, like he was waiting for a blow. Derek turned them around and brought them back up to the side of the ship, letting Stiles get within grabbing distance.

As soon as Stiles could reach the ship he grabbed onto the side to support himself. He ran a hand over his face to brush the salt water away. “Were you born like that?”

Derek nodded. “I was, and my sister. My mother had the mutation as well.”

Stiles hesitated as he studied Derek. “Where's your family now?”

“Dead.” Derek’s face gave away nothing. “Murdered, actually. For being what we are.” He gripped the side of the ship, head bowed, hiding in his arms.

Stiles reached his hand out carefully and placed it on Derek's shoulder. “I'm sorry…”

Turning his head, Derek watched Stiles carefully, like he was looking for the truth in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft. One of his hands moved and ghosted against Stiles’ fingers where they rested on his shoulder. Then he flexed his hand and let it drop to his side, hidden in the water.

Stiles drew his hand away, heart fluttering in his chest. “I feel like something is watching me and I'm going to get eaten,” Stiles said, looking down into the dark, deep water. “Maybe we should pick up the swimming lesson later?” Stiles didn't waste anytime pulling himself out of the water, his threadbare clothes clinging to his body.

An emotion Stiles couldn’t name flashed over Derek’s features. Without saying anything, he heaved himself out of the water onto the deck after Stiles, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort. He shook his head like a dog, the long strands of black hair flicking water in every direction. “Whatever you’d like,” he finally said, moving to lie back down on the deck, presumably to dry himself.

Stiles stood there awkwardly and watched Derek lying there. He couldn't help like feeling he was being ignored, especially after the attention Derek had given him just a moment before. Stiles knew that he had a skill of offending people, but he wasn't sure what he could’ve said that would have upset Derek. “I guess I’ll leave you alone to… bask.”

“You spend too much time down there,” Derek commented. He had his arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed. “You don’t have to go. Unless you still think I’m going to eat you.”

Stiles gaped at Derek and then narrowed his eyes, even if Derek wasn't bothering to look at him. “I didn't say you were going to eat me!” Stiles flushed _red_ after those words slipped out of his mouth, his mind going to places they really shouldn’t. “There are monsters bigger than this ship in the water. We’d just be a snack for them. That’s what I was talking about.”

Derek sat up, his eyes flying open. He mouthed wordlessly for a second, then flushed red himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Well you obviously have your mind made up about me, right? I’m human so I’m just like the rest. What possible good could come out of my pathetic race?” Stiles sighed and shook his head, turning to leave. There wasn't really anywhere for him to go to get away from Derek other than below deck.

Before he could take a step, Derek’s hand was already capturing his wrist. “Please, don’t go. This was my prejudice. The last few years haven’t been easy, but you haven’t done anything to show that you feel that way.” He let Stiles’ hand drop and took a step back, giving him space.

Stiles drew in a breath and released it, jaw clenched and looking at Derek. Stiles should be used to people treating him like this, because he knew he wasn't easy to be around, but he’d wanted to think Derek was different. “You haven't done anything to me to make me think you’re a monster.”

“And you haven’t done anything but make me think you’re a young man in a desperate situation.” He watched Stiles consideringly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re about as far from pathetic as possible. Not many people would have had the guts to just take off onto the sea like you did.”

Stiles shrugged. “Probably the stupidest thing that I’ve done.” He sighed and ran his hands over his face. “But I didn't want to go back into slavery so I didn't really have a choice. So I left.”

“I’ve only known you for a few days, but I feel confident in saying that you’re far from stupid.” Derek sat back down on the deck, leaning against the mast. “And I can’t imagine what you’re running from. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Lydia wanted to come with me, but I couldn't ask her to give up her life on the ship… so I left by myself.” Stiles moved to sit on a sturdy area of the ship away from the edge and the water. “And I made a promise to my mom when she died that I’d find my dad. Somehow.”

“I’d give anything to see my family again.” Derek spoke quietly, wistfully.

“Me too…” Stiles sat there, staring at his hands for what felt like several minutes until he glanced back up at Derek, who seemed lost in his own thoughts as well. The feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin was making Stiles uncomfortable, so he stood up and quietly started stripping. His shirt was drawn off shirt and laid out in the sun, followed by his pants, leaving Stiles in his nearly see through underwear as he settled back down onto the deck of the ship without speaking.

The sound of Derek swallowing was deafening in the silence. He was alternating between watching Stiles and darting his gaze away like he thought he wasn’t allowed to look. Finally, he spoke, his voice a bit rougher. “Your tattoos... I couldn’t see how big they were with your shirt on. They must have taken a long time.”

Stiles tensed, the reminder of his tattoos and the people looking for him makes his nerves rise. “Yeah… I’ve had them since I was young. My mom gave them to me. It’s like a family thing.”

Derek shifted against the mast. “So is mine.” His hand rose to his shoulder, indicating the black spirals high up on his back. “Although I was a teenager when I got mine. After I lost my family.”

“I like your tattoo,” Stiles said with a smile. He hadn't really gotten a good look at it until today, but he'd seen glimpses of it when Derek had brought him food and water. “My mom gave them to me when she started to get sick. So I'd have them with me before she died.”

“How old were you?”

“I was ten.”

Derek’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m sorry. No one should have to lose their parent that young.”

Stiles nodded, looking down at his hands and chewed on his lips. He tried not to think about his mom on her deathbed, but it was hard not to. “When did your lose your family?”

“When I was 16.” Derek’s eyes drifted shut, his face lined with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said softly, eyes drifting over Derek and then looking back down at his hands. “Do you ever… think about settling down somewhere? Or do you like being out here on the water?”

A mirthless laugh burst from Derek’s lips. “I don’t think there’s anywhere someone like me could settle down. No one wants a freak living near them.” He shook his head. “Better I just stay out here.”

“The world’s changed before. It could change again.” Stiles shrugged and picked at his fingers. “But I guess I can understand why you wouldn't want to live with a colony. People tend to live on top of each other and there’s not a lot of room to be absolutely alone.”

Derek nodded, looking down at his hands. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like he was wrestling with what to say. Finally, he cleared his throat. “It… has been nice. Having someone here.” Looking up, he met Stiles’ eyes. There was so much anguish in his gaze and a longing for companionship that he couldn’t hide.

“Well now that I’m better you might change your mind,” Stiles teased. He chuckled and sighed again. “I tend to talk a lot and somehow have an ability to offend or annoy people easily. You don't seem that chatty. I can imagine you might want to throw me overboard in the next few days.”

Derek’s lips twitched. “Sounds like my family. I miss that.”

“Well then I look forward to not being thrown overboard.” Stiles shifted to lie back on the deck, waiting for his clothes to dry off. Maybe being on this ship with Derek wouldn't be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek tossed and turned on his narrow cot. Once Stiles had fully recovered, he’d insisted that he and Derek take turns with the bed, no matter how much Derek had protested. But even laying in his bed alone was a kind of torture, the blanket and pillow having absorbed Stiles’ scent in the few short days he’d occupied it. Derek’s mind couldn’t help but wander, the implication of Stiles in his bed causing him lazy arousal that plagued him through the night.

He could sense Stiles awake above him, his heartbeat too fast to be relaxed in sleep. Derek rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, groaning when that only made things worse. Briefly, he ground his hips into his cot then stopped, feeling ashamed. Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he rolled onto his back and watched the light from his oil lamps flickering on the ceiling, the low level illumination casting shadows and patterns that shifted and moved.

His breath caught as he could hear Stiles start to move, heading towards the opening in the deck. He froze and tried to will his own heart to slow as Stiles descended the ladder. Derek turned his head, his breath catching. Stiles moved down towards him with an easier grace than he’d had up until this point. He was watching Derek, eyes intent. In the muted light, they glowed like amber gems, surrounded by soft dark lashes.

The prevailing thought in Derek’s head was that Stiles was too beautiful to be real. He swallowed and shifted up onto his elbows. “Do you need something?” He asked.

Stiles stood there, looking slightly awkward and unsure of himself. “I couldn't sleep,” he said with a shrug.

Derek moved into a sitting position, the wood of the floor cool on his bare feet, contrasting with the heat in his body. “Any particular reason?” Derek asked. “Did you want to talk about something?”

Stiles carefully walked forward until he was standing in front of Derek. “I’ve just been thinking.” His eyes shifted down to Derek as he reached his hand to the hem of his own shirt and pushed it up his stomach, revealing skin.

Derek’s mouth went dry, his pulse starting to pound as inch after inch of Stiles’ torso was revealed. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen during their swimming lessons, but something about the timing felt so intimate, like he was being granted a gift. “What are you doing?” He rasped, unable to tear his gaze from the line of dark hair leading into Stiles’ breeches.

“Stripping.” Stiles pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. “I can stop if you want me to.”

“I can see that,” Derek murmured. He reached out one trembling hand and took a hold of Stiles’, gently curling his fingers around his hand. “But why?”

“Because I want -” Stiles started, holding Derek's hand back and undoing the tie on his pants with his free hand. They sagged on his hips and he pushed them off, leaving him in just his underwear. “I want to give this to you.”

Derek’s cock pulsed and filled in his own pants, leaving him almost lightheaded with lust. He let go of Stiles’ hand and dragged his fingers up the bare skin of his arm, before cupping the back of Stiles’ neck and drawing him down. When they were a breath apart, Derek paused, just looking into Stiles’ eyes, unfocused from proximity. Then he closed the gap and let his lips slide against Stiles’, gently and slowly.

Stiles’ breath was quick and uneven as he returned Derek's kiss, hands moving to cup Derek's face. When they parted, Stiles’ eyes were closed as if he were still lost in the kiss. “So that's what a kiss is, huh?” He looked drunk on it when he opened his eyes to look at Derek.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?” Derek asked. He felt startled by the admission. The fact that someone who looked like Stiles had been untouched as a slave for so long was practically a miracle. He reached up with his other hand and cupped Stiles’ face. “I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“I'm not,” Stiles said with a reassuring tone. “I haven't… done any of this before. No one has ever touched me.” Stiles drew in a shaky breath. “And I don't have anything to give you for helping me, but I can give you this. I want to.”

Derek froze. “You’re doing this… to pay me back?” He could smell arousal on Stiles, but he still hesitated, the implication making his stomach twist.

Stiles seemed to pause at Derek's tension. “I guess you could think of it that way…”

“Stiles,” Derek started. “I don’t need this as payment. I kissed you because I'm attracted to you… and I thought you felt the same.” He stayed still, waiting for Stiles’ response, not wanting to drop his hands and lose the contact of Stiles’ skin.

“I'm attracted to you too and you seem like a nice guy. You haven't let me drown or thrown me overboard so that's a plus.”

“Not exactly a ringing endorsement.” Derek chuckled. He let his hands drop to Stiles’ hips, tracing his thumbs along the edge of Stiles’ hipbones. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. But… if you’re still willing, I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

“Kissing is good.” Stiles hesitated and chewed on his bottom lip. “So… You don't want to do anything else?”

Derek tugged Stiles, encouraging him to sit next to him on the cot. “Considering this is the first time you’ve ever kissed someone... maybe we should take it one step at a time.” He reached up a hand and brushed Stiles’ hair back from his forehead. “Intimacy is special and I want to give you the attention and care you deserve.” Leaning forward, he pressed another kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth then traveled to his jaw and neck, dropping feather light kisses as he went.

Stiles’ head tilted and his eyes closed, hands moving up to thread his fingers into Derek's hair. “I guess going slow isn't bad,” Stiles breathed, sounding slightly desperate. “I just want to experience everything at least once.”

Derek licked his lips, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ lips in answer. This time he let his tongue swipe across Stiles’ lips in question, wanting to deepen the kiss. He could feel Stiles trembling in his arms and reigned in the impulse to just throw Stiles down on the bed and have his way. The touch, taste and feel of him was appealing to every one of Derek’s instincts, clamoring that Stiles was _his_ and he needed to claim him as such. If Derek had anything to say about it, no one would ever lay hands on Stiles again.

Stiles opened his mouth to kiss Derek deeper, his tongue brushing out against Derek's in exploration. When Derek kissed him, Stiles groaned. Stiles pressed in closer, chasing Derek's kiss.

Stiles learned quickly, mimicking Derek’s movements. Derek’s body felt aflame with desire, his arms around Stiles, finger tracing the muscles of Stiles’ back, dragging over the tattoos. Pulling back from Stiles’ lips, Derek again went for his neck, sliding his tongue along the skin before placing a sucking kiss at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “What are you doing to me, Stiles?” He murmured, breathing hard.

“The same as whatever you’re doing to me,” Stiles panted, blunt nails digging into Derek’s shoulders. Stiles buried his face against Derek’s shoulder, breath coming in heaves as he pressed his body into Derek’s space. “If you’re not going to touch me we should probably stop,” Stiles said on a whimper.

At the thought of letting Stiles go, Derek’s eyes flashed red before he could stop it. He saw Stiles’ own eyes widen and he shrunk back a bit, waiting to see if Stiles showed fear. When there was none, he let himself relax a bit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Stiles seemed sobered and cautious, but not afraid. “Why are your eyes glowing red?”

“Because… I’m not just a mutation. I’m an Alpha as well.” Slowly, he reached out his hand and took Stiles’, looking for any sign of discomfort. “I just… let my instincts get away from me a bit. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

Stiles looked down at Derek’s hand and then back up to his still glowing red eyes until they faded. “My mother’s eyes didn't glow red…”

Derek felt a jolt of surprise. “Your mother was an Alpha?”

“She was human, but yes, she was.”

Human Alphas were rare, but they were around. They weren’t as far along as himself in terms of mutation, but they were different from the average human. They were also prized because of their rarity, so Stiles and his mother’s capture into slavery made more sense. “So… does that mean you’re…” Derek trailed off. He had an inkling now why Stiles’ scent was so strong and appealing to him.

Stiles drew in a slow and unsteady breath, eyes searching Derek’s face as if he were unsure about sharing that information. “I’m… an omega.”

It was just confirmation as to what Derek was thinking, but his hands clenched around Stiles’ anyway in reaction. “No wonder you smell so good to me.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes a lot more sense now.” Stiles looked down at their joined hands and sighed. “I suppose I should… go back up top before we can't control ourselves then.”

“No, wait,” Derek blurted, then felt his face heat from embarrassment. “Just because you’re an omega doesn’t mean I can’t control myself around you.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand. “You don’t need to go.”

Stiles’ skin started to turn a blotchy red as he flushed. “Well… when you combine needy virgin omega with an amazing smelling Alpha, I doubt I’ll be able to stop myself. I’m not saying that you can't control yourself, but I don't want to end up laying here begging you for more than you can give me.”

“Fuck,” Derek groaned, his cock twitching hard in his pants. Before he could think, he leaned forward to press another slow, deep kiss to Stiles’ mouth. He wanted nothing more than to show Stiles every kind of pleasure he could think of. Breaking away, he leaned his forehead against Stiles’, breathing hard. “You can stay down here. I think I might go for a swim… to calm myself down.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, breath starting to come quicker again as he pressed another kiss to Derek’s lips.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, his resolve weakening. He darted forward and kissed Stiles a final time, before standing up and adjusting his pants. Reaching out, he cupped Stiles’ face again, staring dizzily at Stiles’ pink, swollen lips. _I did that_ he thought and flushed with pride. “Sleep well,” he said, bending over to press a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

“More like sleep sexually frustrated,” Stiles said with a snort and small smile. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Stiles.” Derek smiled back. He crossed to the ladder and looked back a final time, feeling an ache in his chest. Climbing up, he resigned himself to a cold swim in the waters of the sea.

***

Stiles lay on the deck of the ship, wet with the sun warm on his skin. During the last two weeks they'd developed a routine. Wake up, eat, talk and then try to teach him how to swim. There wasn't much to do on Derek's ship, but Stiles tried to make the best of it. Mostly he tried not to stare at Derek all day, especially right now since Derek was just as wet as he was and Stiles wanted to taste the sea on his skin.

The most they'd done the last two weeks was kiss. Every time Stiles tried to push for more, Derek would tell him they could take things slow because Stiles didn't have experience. He understood that they'd only known each other three weeks, but with spending every waking moment around Derek, Stiles thought they'd gotten to know each other quickly and well.

“So are you going to reveal the secret of how you fish to me yet?”

“A lot of luck,” Derek said. He lay down next to Stiles and leaned over, rubbing his nose along Stiles’ jaw. “And sometimes… I use myself as bait.”

“You do not,” Stiles said, looking at Derek, shocked. “Why on earth would you do that? You can't just swim around and catch some fish?”

Derek propped himself up on his elbow, chuckling softly. “I only do it when I need something big to barter. When I catch the huge fish, it's a lot of meat to trade.” He cocked his head and studied Stiles’ face, tracing his fingertips along Stiles’ lips. “Did that mean you're worried for me?”

“Of course I'm worried for you. I don't want you to get eaten by a monster sized fish.” Stiles kissed Derek's fingertips then carefully flicked his tongue out against one to gauge Derek's reaction.

Derek bit his lip, his pupils dilating. Moving slowly, he let his finger push in between Stiles’ lips, then rested it there. He was breathing hard through his nose, skin already flushing.

Stiles’ lips closed around Derek’s finger, his tongue brushing up against it. He could feel his skin starting to heat as he drew Derek’s finger more into his mouth, his skin salty from their morning swim. His breath was shallow as he watched Derek, feeling himself starting to slicken as his arousal built.

Derek rumbled deep in his throat. He withdrew his finger and leaned forward to kiss Stiles deeply. For the first time, he carefully rolled himself on top of Stiles, letting his weight press him to the deck. He rolled his hips in a lazy way, molding himself to Stiles’ body.

Stiles groaned softly into Derek’s mouth, the weight of Derek on top of him sending heat rushing through him. Stiles’ legs opened easily to cradle Derek against him, arms moving around Derek to hold him close as he kissed him back. His cock was already hard between them as Stiles curled one leg against Derek’s hip, a need pulling at him to feel Derek touching his slick, wet hole. “Derek,” he panted against his lips, not sure what he was trying to ask for. Everything and anything.

“God, Stiles,” Derek groaned. “You drive me crazy. I want you so badly.” He gave a sharper roll of his hips, shuddering above Stiles. Suddenly he surged upwards and moved to pull his tunic over his head.

Out of nowhere, there was a sudden wet, meaty sound as an arrow thunked into the flesh of Derek’s chest. Derek gasped in pain as another arrow struck him in the stomach and he pitched backwards.

“Derek!” Stiles screamed, sitting up and grabbing for him. Dread filled him and he could feel fear bubbling up inside of him. “Derek. Oh my god.” Stiles pressed his hands to the arrows, as if he could heal him.

Derek coughed wetly, blood bubbling from his lips. “Stiles,” he gasped, eyes wide. “Behind you!”

***

Derek sank into the ocean, staring up at his ship on the surface of the water. The pain was excruciating as salt seeped into his wounds, his hands moving to yank one arrow out and then the other. He’d been kicked off the ship, unable to get to Stiles before more men had taken him away and his attacker put a few more arrows into him. One by one the arrows came out and the water around him turned red.

He wasn’t surprised when a large, looming figure swam around him. Derek knew exactly what it was. It was the type of fish that he caught and traded in for supplies and it smelt his blood in the water. It was coming for him, coming for a wounded animal and an easy meal.

Derek growled as his shift took over him, bubbles surrounding him with another muted roar. The monster fish turned and opened its mouth, rows of teeth threatening to tear Derek to pieces. Derek kicked his feet, using his webbed toes to take advantage of his speed, ignoring the pain from his wounds as he clawed at the giant fish. His nails dug into flesh, slashing over plated armor, the fish struggling and trying to turn and bite him. Derek slashed at its eyes, spilling more blood into the water.

The monster wailed in pain and tried to escape. Derek let it, moving his hands to his stomach as his own blood continued to redden the water. He had to get to Stiles. He winced and kicked his feet, rushing to the surface to find the men and Stiles gone. Terror filled him. He had to find Stiles. That was the only thing that mattered.

***

Stiles sat in the chair, body aching from the angle he’d been sitting in for who knew how long. His hands were tied behind his back and his feet were bound, no doubt due to how he’d tried to claw the men’s eyes out when they’d taken him from Derek’s sinking body.

He hadn't seen Derek resurface as they’d taken him away. Derek was dead. There was no way he could have survived the arrow wounds and then drowning. Tears streaked down Stiles’ face as he started to cry again, thinking about how everything he touched died. His throat was sore from screaming and he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't give these men what they were asking for and the last thing Stiles cared about right now was dry land.

The small trapdoor in the ceiling opened and harsh sunlight streamed in. The light was blocked out momentarily by a pair of legs, followed by a grimy bare torso covered in tattoos. “Decided to stop screaming?” The man asked, grinning nastily at Stiles.

Stiles didn't even look up, closing his eyes and taking in shallow breaths. He knew the sound of the man’s voice. It wasn't the one that killed Derek, but they were all the same to Stiles now. He sniffled and didn't respond. There was nothing he could tell them that they wanted to know.

“Aw, don’t be quiet now,” the man crooned, reaching out to brush Stiles’ hair back off his forehead. “You still haven’t let me in on the secret of that tattoo of yours.”

Stiles jerked his head back and looked up at the man. “It’s just a tattoo. There are no secrets. It’s just ink.”

The man nodded and looked thoughtful. “Hmm… well that’s not what your red-headed friend says. She’s even prettier than you.”

“I don't have any friends. I don't know what you’re talking about.” Stiles could only imagine that he was talking about Lydia and there was no way that he would believe that she’d betray his trust like that.

The man sneered and dragged another chair in front of Stiles, sitting in it backwards, legs splayed. “What was her name again? Laura? Lexa?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is the fact that that tattoo of yours apparently leads to dry land. You’ve got a lot of people interested in you now.”

“Lil ol me? Hard to believe. I've got nothing to offer anyone. You'll never find dry land because it doesn't exist. It hasn't for a long time. It's a myth people tell their children when they put them to sleep.”

“Maybe,” the man conceded. “But I still think you're valuable to keep.” He stood up and walked around behind Stiles, movements slow and calculated. When he exploded into movement it was sudden, darting forward and ripping the back of Stiles’ shirt in half, leaving the shredded fabric dangling above Stiles’ tied wrists. “If you don't want to explain it, maybe we'll just skin you. Tan and stretch this map of yours and try to find someone who can figure it out. Like your friend.”

Stiles yelped and shivered at his exposed back. “Skin me if you want. The only person that can tell you anything about it died several years ago. And even then it would just be a myth.”

The man swooped back around to Stiles’ front, teeth gritted and growling. He fisted Stiles’ hair in his hand and yanked his head back, bringing his face close, musty breath ghosting over Stiles’ skin. “We’ll see how long you can keep this attitude up.”

Stiles glared at the man but said nothing, trying to yank his head out of his grasp.

Holding on for several more seconds, Stiles’ captor finally made a disgusted noise and released him. “I’ll be back in a while, sweetheart.” He turned and climbed back up through the trapdoor, slamming it shut behind him and turning the room back into darkness.

Stiles slumped in the chair, feeling the most helpless he’d felt since his mother died.

***

Stiles was faintly aware of a commotion on deck, but the darkness below deck swallowed him up and all he could think about was when they would come to kill him and keep his skin. The hatch opened, spilling light into the darkness and Stiles didn't even look up. He knew it was going to be creepy tattoo guy and if not him, one of the others.

When gentle hands touched him, he looked up, shock filling him. “Derek?!”

Derek’s eyes were glowing red with anger, splashes of blood covering his skin. “Stiles,” he growled around a mouthful of fangs. “Are you hurt?” His hands ran over Stiles’ skin, looking for injury.

“I've lost my mind. I'm definitely hallucinating. Or dreaming. You're dead.” Stiles tried to tamp down the hope in his chest, his eyes studying the face in front of him that was familiar and foreign all the same.

“You’re not dreaming, Stiles,” Derek said, his features smoothing out and becoming more like himself. “I was so scared _you_ were dead.” He couldn’t seem to stop touching Stiles, moving his hands around back to pull open the rope lashing his hands together. Then he bent and released Stiles’ feet, making a dismayed noise at the angry red welts on Stiles’ skin.

Stiles had to reach out and touch. Had to make sure that Derek was real and he wasn't just a figment of his imagination. “But they shot you,” he said, his hands moving to touch the places on Derek's chest and stomach where the arrows had been. Stiles gave a desperate sound and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, relief washing over him.

“One of the abilities my mutation gives me is faster healing. It takes a lot to kill one of us.” His own arms went tight around Stiles’ waist, clutching the two of them together.

After a few moments, Stiles sniffled and drew back. “We should go. I don't know how many there are but some left to report that they'd found me.”

“I only took out two of them. The ones guarding you.” Derek reached into the bag he’d slung over his shoulder. “I also brought this.” He showed Stiles a jar filled with liquid, topped with a length of fuse. “I stole a lighter off one of them. I figured blowing a hole in the side of their ship would keep them distracted enough for us to get off of here.”

Stiles nodded and looked from Derek to the jar of oil. “Okay. We could probably put it down here…” Stiles stood, slightly wobbly and pushed his chair aside. “Here maybe?”

“Be ready to move,” Derek cautioned. He flicked open the lighter and lit the fuse, wedging the jar in the corner of the room. “Go!” He said, grabbing Stiles’ elbow and encouraging him to climb the ladder. The sound of the fuse hissing seemed deafening in the small, dark space.

The explosion sounded as they hurried to the edge of the deck and Stiles looked back, noticing the ship starting to tilt. “We have to swim?!” He asked Derek, looking at the water and no other ship in sight.

“I’ll have you,” Derek promised. “It’ll be alright!” The sound of men shouting came from behind them.

“Get them!” One man screamed, while another took aim with a crossbow.

“Now!” Derek yelled, and jumped.

Stiles screamed as he jumped, the sound of an arrow whizzing by him. He sputtered as Derek caught him and he wrapped his arms around Derek's neck from behind.

“Hold on,” was all Derek said, before he was off, slicing through the water at his inhuman speed. The commotion on the ship behind them got louder, but the men’s attention would have to be on preventing themselves from sinking, rather than an escaping prisoner.

When they reached their own ship, Stiles was sputtering and gasping for air. He held onto the side as his lungs heaved. “Let's not do that again. Ever. I might need a mask and some kind of breathing contraption,” he teased, looking at Derek.

Derek huffed in amusement, his own chest rising and falling rapidly. He gave Stiles a boost up and climbed on deck after him. Stiles could see that all of Derek’s muscles were hard with the strain and trembling, glistening from the water. “You’re safe now,” Derek said, reaching out and squeezing Stiles’ hand.

Stiles’ hand curled tight around Derek’s as he lay back on the deck, aching all over. “I still can't believe that you’re alive,” he said with a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Derek dropped down onto his knees beside Stiles, before curling onto his side. “So am I.” His thumb stroked back and forth over Stiles’ hand. “When I was looking for you… I knew that as long as I could keep finding your scent, you were alive. It gave me hope that I wasn’t too late to protect you.”

Stiles turned onto his side to face Derek, reaching out to cup his cheek as he stared into his eyes. “Thank you. For coming for me.” Stiles scooted in closer, pressing a chaste kiss to Derek’s lips, breathing him in. The last thing he expected was Derek saving him, much less Derek being alive. “I… I guess we should talk. About why they took me.”

Derek’s eyebrows rose. He looked a bit puzzled. “I was so worried about you being taken, I didn’t even think about _why_ you were taken.” He licked his lips. “Did it have to do with you being a slave?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed, looking down. “It's about the tattoo on my back.” He let out a slow breath and tried to tell himself that he could trust Derek. “It's a map to dry land.”

Derek’s body tensed up, his hand clutching Stiles’ convulsively. “Dry land is a myth,” he said, brow furrowed.

“I was born on dry land… and as far as I know, my dad is still there.”

Derek’s hand pulled free of Stiles’ and he sat up. “You’re not joking, are you?” His voice was filled with amazement.

“I'm not.” Stiles sat up hesitantly and placed his hands in his lap, looking down at them. “That's why they took me.”

There was a long, drawn out silence between them. Finally, Derek reached out his hand again and laid it on top of Stiles’. “I believe you. I do.” He used his other hand to tip Stiles’ chin up. “If you’re still willing, I’d like to help you find your father.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, surprised. He couldn't believe Derek would actually take him to dry land. He wasn't sure they'd even find it, but the possibility of not having to be on the water constantly made Stiles itch for his feet to touch dry land. “You'd take me?”

“If I can.” Derek cupped Stiles’ cheek in his hand. “If you have a chance to be with your family, I want you to have it.”

A feeling Stiles didn't recognize swelled in his chest and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Derek's. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Derek assured him. “I'm just glad you’re safe and back with me.” He nuzzled against Stiles’ cheek.

“Me too.” Stiles felt safe with Derek again, something he'd thought he'd never feel. “We should probably get going before they find us.”

“I’ll just have to be more vigilant.” Derek reached up with his other hand, cupping both around Stiles’ face. “I won’t let them take you again.” He spoke fiercely, and determined.

Stiles studied Derek, believing him. He nodded and raised his hand to trace over Derek's features before leaning in and giving him another kiss. He never thought he’d feel this safe with anyone, much less have this swelling feeling growing in his chest the longer he kissed Derek. “Let’s go find dry land.”


End file.
